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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27944837">Twist of the Knife</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/illxmination/pseuds/illxmination'>illxmination</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>As We Spiral Into the Dark [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Criminal Minds (US TV), Danny Phantom</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aftermath of Torture, Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, BAMF Spencer Reid, Blood and Injury, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Crossover, F/M, Family Fluff, Feral Danny Phantom, Flashbacks, Implied Relationships, Let Jack Hotchner begin to curse!!, Murder, Not Phantom Planet Compliant (Danny Phantom), Past Character Death, Sequel, Team Bonding, Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 23:07:49</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>12,774</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27944837</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/illxmination/pseuds/illxmination</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The anonymous tip Garcia received should not have shaken her as much as it did; then the news hit social media and Hotch's desk. Amity Park, Minnesota had a series of murders that could have been the work of a copycat serial killer, except Amity Park didn't have murders. It was supposed to be a quiet little place with urban legends involving ghosts.</p><p>Unfortunately, the "urban legends" are real, and the serial killer is no copycat. George Foyet, the Boston Reaper, has been released from an otherworldly prison to begin his murder spree anew, and the only people who can possibly help the Behavioral Analysis Unit catch the Reaper is a little family called the Fentons.</p><p>If he thought getting over the entire Foyet affair was difficult the first time, Aaron Hotchner's going to have a hell of a time with this one... especially when the resident ghost kid (that's a new one for him) has his own demons to overcome alongside him.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Danny Fenton &amp; Vlad Masters, Danny Fenton/Sam Manson, Jack Fenton/Maddie Fenton, past Aaron Hotchner/Haley Hotchner - Relationship</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>As We Spiral Into the Dark [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2046470</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>97</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Into the Deep</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Every search for a hero must begin with something that every hero requires: a villain.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Ghost Zone.<br/>
Timekeeper’s Lair. </em>
</p><p>It was a containment facility, in a way; the ghost kept a watch over the creatures and ghosts of the darkest depths, apart from one that remained in the furthest and darkest corner of the room. Each creature was a piece of humanity’s darkest times- from serial killers to deadly ghosts, among other things. The room was supposed to be impossible to enter, unless you had a way inside that no others knew about. It was dark, except for the light under each prison that showcased who the creature was.</p><p>The figure that floated through the room seemed to have acquired access, and it was not from the ghost that guarded the place. It remained silently, slowly passing by many a containment chamber with eyes glowing in the dim light. They were narrowed, the ghost musing over each subject with his body covered in a cape down to his calves. He had long hair that was three inches past his shoulders, a far cry from what once was vampiric in nature. When he smiled, fangs could be seen.</p><p>He rarely smiled now, however. Not since what had happened two months ago.</p><p>No one knew what had happened that day at the apartment, and he was going to keep it that way for as long as he damn well could. The individual was unsure of how long that charade could be kept, but it did not matter. He would make sure it stayed that way, no matter what happened.</p><p>He paused finally in front of a test chamber, floating in front of it with those narrowed red eyes. The ghost floated in the chamber, human-like with what appeared to be several wounds to the head. There were multiple stabs to his body; the man could not tell if they were self-inflicted or not. He folded his arms, staring at the man for what seemed like the longest time before looking down.</p><p>‘<em>George Foyet – the Boston Reaper. Thirty-six known victims. Volatile and dangerous.’</em></p><p>The figure would have smiled, his lip twitching upwards for a moment. Instead, he exhaled slowly and continued to watch the murderer float in his chamber. “Eff-thirty-six. How appropriate,” he murmured to himself. “Couldn’t have been more obvious, I suppose.”</p><p>“Neither could you showing up,” came a dull voice.</p><p>The ghost closed his eyes, remaining in front of the chamber with no smile on his lips. He should have guessed that this would happen, but he was <em>hoping</em> on a whim that it would not. Beggars could not be choosers. “You <em>do</em> have terrible timing, for being the Master of Time. I suppose that can’t be helped, though.”</p><p>Clockwork did not move from the front entrance, his appearance changing to that of a young man. “You aren’t supposed to be here, much less be having access. Playing with codes just proves how desperate you are to make him suffer for what is your own doing.”</p><p>The figure clenched a fist; red energy formed around it, not at all the magenta it was once before. “I never asked your opinion, <em>time ghost.</em> What happens between me and the boy is <em>none</em> of your concern.”</p><p>“I wish I could believe that, but you and I both know that <em>that</em> is a lie, and I know what you will do in the future when you continue down this path.” Clockwork frowned gently at this. “…you can still change-“</p><p>A snort was heard, and eyes closed. “Leave that for the other timeline variations,” he interrupted. “I started down this path for a reason, and I’m not turning back. After all, what was it that Bloodraven told Bran?” He allowed himself a small smile finally, opening his eyes to gaze at the murderer. “’Darkness will make you strong’?”</p><p>Clockwork would have snorted himself. “When did you ever read <em>Game of Thrones</em>?”</p><p>“Never have. But that quote does invoke thoughts, you know.”</p><p>Clockwork floated between the tubes, approaching the man with his staff in hand. The energy never disappeared from the intruder’s fingertips, growing more intense the closer he got. “You can try to stop me, but you know how that will also turn out,” the intruder growled softly. “Very poorly with <em>more</em> than a few of these individuals on the loose again.”</p><p>“I do. I also know this isn’t bad for just Danny… but the rest of the city, as well as another individual.” Clockwork held the staff in both hands, gazing at the other steadily. “You are playing a dangerous game by doing this, you realize. Manipulation of the system, corruption and bribery… need I go on?”</p><p>Vlad Plasmius turned to the timekeeper; his hand clenched into a fist. “Even if you stop time, I will do this. I <em>will</em> show that child a villain that he so desperately seems to need in his story.” His eyes flickered with anger. “I <em>will</em> <em>be</em> that villain, and I will be the best damn villain he has ever had.”</p><p>Clockwork remained motionless. “Whatever puts your mind at ease, Vladimir. But you have already been defeated in such a category, and that will become apparent someday.”</p><p>“Tch. Whatever puts <em>your</em> mind at ease, time ghost. Your confidence <em>will</em> be your undoing.”</p><p>Without warning, the hybrid raised a hand and shot an energy ray at the wall. The panel he had hit sparked with a bright green hue, and all the other test chambers went dark except for the one the two beings floated in front of. It remained lit up with a dim blue-and-white tone before smoke began to escape from the bottom; the test tube glass-like substance disappeared, leaving the ghost floating in front of the other two beings.</p><p>The ghost opened his eyes, blinking slowly and groaning. Clockwork gripped his staff tightly; he <em>knew</em> what would happen. He knew what was going to happen, what could possibly happen. All the timelines had this as a possibility, but this one made it happen.</p><p>This was quite a twist and a divergence on a new path.</p><p>“…you really <em>did</em> think I was dangerous,” the ‘ghost’ drawled quietly. It was weaker than expected. “Throw me in a chamber I can’t even get out of, sleepin’ for years before some wacko decides to bust me out.”</p><p>Clockwork merely tilted his head. “Escaping from the warden’s prison is not a feat we take lightly here. I suppose we should have guessed you’d do such a thing those years ago, but alas. Catching and trapping you was quite the annoyance as well.” He frowned. “Especially since we cannot even consider you a ghost anymore.”</p><p>George Foyet grinned at this, ducking his head. The Boston Reaper loved the attention, the encouragement- that is what he called it, anyway. “Well, that’s a nice little surprise. What’s the new name for it?”</p><p>“I would much prefer the term <em>wraith</em>,” Clockwork explained sourly. “Knowing your past deeds as such and what you have done to humanity and those who were closest to you… as a serial killing ghost, you still have those old tendencies and haven’t exactly <em>moved on</em> from your grudges and obsession.”</p><p>The newly deemed wraith chuckled softly. “You have <em>no</em> idea, Clocky.”</p><p>Plasmius closed his eyes, listening to the two of them speaking before it faded into the background. There was so much to do in such a little span of time, and he knew it was going to be painful to do it while also keeping his eyes on a murderous fiend. What he knew about the wraith was little- there was not much to be said in the police files about what he had done besides the thirty-six murders.</p><p>There had been a little segment about the Federal Bureau of Investigation coming in after he had come back years later and one whom Foyet had obsessed with. After that, it went dark.</p><p>Sure, he had been killed in a fit of self-defense, as they called it. Something about that felt off, however. He took someone with him before he died, and that was all.</p><p>Besides Foyet, though, there was another little problem: Danny Fenton.</p><p>The reveal had been a hell of a spectacle. Truthfully, he did not know the extent of Daniel’s anger- but the same applied to the boy. He had <em>no idea</em> how pissed Plasmius was about things, and it showed in a fight that had been their most brutal one to date. While the boy was terrified of such anger, <em>Plasmius</em> had embraced it, opting to keep his new appearance with the rage flowing through his body.</p><p>He had not gone to visit the boy in those two months, for a few reasons.</p><p>“Are you two finished?” he finally spoke irritably. “I <em>do</em> have a business meeting to attend. For real, this time.”</p><p>Foyet and Clockwork looked over at the hybrid, the killer snorting. “Mister Fancy Pants over here has to go and do actual people stuff; ooh, so scary.”</p><p>Plasmius closed his eyes again. “And <em>you</em> are in no condition at all to go around killing and haunting a city that seems to be full of ‘urban legends,’ according to the internet. For the time being, might I make <em>one</em> suggestion, and have it been that you come to Wisconsin and get your silly little habits back in order so <em>I</em> can keep an eye on you?”</p><p>Clockwork never moved. “You will have to understand that your actions will have consequences when you do this.”</p><p>“Oh please. You won’t even stop me. I know you, Clockwork… letting the timeline along its little path until you deem it unnecessary as such and work to fix it.” Plasmius’s hands stopped glowing, opening his eyes with a dangerous red glint. “So why don’t you let this timeline play out and see what could happen from this?”</p><p>The timekeeper kept his hands on his staff before lowering it slowly. His eyes narrowed as well; he knew what would happen. He very well knew what could happen- knowledge was a funny thing like that.</p><p>Foyet folded his arms. “When you two idiots are done staring, I’d <em>like</em> to get started back to Wisconsin until I can actually start- y’know. Murdering people again. Even if it ain't Boston this time.”</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em>Federal Bureau of Investigation’s Office.<br/>
Quantico, Virginia.</em>
</p><p>“If you can get Aaron Hotchner away from his desk, I’ll give you twenty bucks,” David Rossi challenged playfully, looking up at the office. “That’s not a bet you’re going to be winning any time soon, though.”</p><p>Derek Morgan chuckled, shaking his head and flashing a grin to his coworker. “Hey now. Be nice. Woman’s got charm that none of us seem to have these days.”</p><p>It was a quiet week in Quantico, Virginia; the Behavioral Analysis Unit’s A-team could attest to that as they all worked on a batch of papers handed off to them by the new section chief. Spencer Reid gently fiddled around with a Rubix cube, raising a brow at the other two men’s words and shook his head. “Really going to put her on the spot with a trick that got me doing papers for three weeks? That's hardly fair.”</p><p>Tara Lewis chuckled, glancing up from her own stack to the office above them. “If I take that bet, will you guys shut up about it and not tell JJ?”</p><p>Morgan smirked. “No promises- she <em>is</em> on maternity leave after all. Gotta keep her in the loop about things, y’know?”</p><p>“Sure, because office gossip is definitely ‘in the loop’,” Tara retorted in air quotes. “Have you guys already finished with your stuff?”</p><p>Reid raised his hand.</p><p>“Besides you.”</p><p>The hand lowered.</p><p>Morgan shook his head. “It’s been dead enough all week; can’t remember the last time we actually had some quiet time like this. Don’t get me <em>wrong,</em> it’s nice. But something feels… I dunno.”</p><p>“Off,” Rossi suggested.</p><p>Reid shrugged lightly. “Morgan has a point, though. When <em>was</em> the last time we had some days without a case? I think it’s about nine days, twenty hours—”</p><p>Morgan shot Reid a look now. '<em>Don't start.'</em></p><p>The man shut up again, turning back to the Rubix cube. “Anyway, we could’ve used some of our vacation time, but. I guess it’s a little late for that, right?”</p><p>“Just a tad,” Rossi admitted. “Look at how much we’ve stacked up after all. I’m trying to <em>give</em> some to <em>Penelope</em>, for the love of god. Cruz said he’d look into it, but that was a month ago; hasn’t gotten back to me since.”</p><p>“Speakin’ of Baby Girl… where is she?” Morgan asked curiously.</p><p>Tara glanced over. “In the Batcave. Said something about possible records being downloaded from another server. She’s looking into it.”</p>
<hr/><p>She was doing more than looking into it. Penelope Garcia was digging, searching with fingers flying across the keyboard and eyes scanning the screens with the door shut and the computers whirring at loud volumes. She moved her head slowly, looking from side to side and glancing up every now and again at different places to try and verify what she had just seen.</p><p>She had already sent an email to her boss about the matter, but she had not received a response yet. She was almost expecting him to knock on the door and barge in at some point. That was not in character for him, but this seemed like a good opportunity to do so with the knowledge she had given him. Her fingers continued across the keyboard before she froze for a moment.</p><p>‘<em>GFboston.pdf: Last opened: 23:58:12, 08/01/2020.’</em></p><p>That… could not be right. Right?</p><p>Garcia inhaled softly before clicking the link and watching it download. The file opened on her screen.</p><p>Nothing.</p><p>Blank.</p><p>“…oh no. No no no no… what the hell…?!” Garcia muttered, fingers flying across the keyboard again and shaking her head. “That can’t be…”</p><p>Several screens populated with various titles, all related to one aspect. Each one she opened, the pit in her stomach got larger and larger. Someone knew what they were doing, deleting the files and documents after the fact when they got whatever information they wanted. She gritted her teeth, searching through every piece until she got a hit.</p><p>It could have been considered less than a hit, but she would take whatever string she could get.</p><p>
  <strong>“He’s back.”</strong>
</p><p>The analyst stared at the two words for what seemed like the longest minute before there was a knock on her door. She squeezed her eyes shut and quickly shook her head before standing up and straightening her dress. “I need to make <em>so</em> many changes with this firewall, I swear to <em>god</em>…”</p><p>Garcia opened the door, fidgeting with her nails as Aaron Hotchner stood in the doorway with that carefully blank stare. She looked back at her computer and to her boss once again. “You got my email.”</p><p>“I did. What happened?”</p><p>“I- okay, there was a glitch in the system last night, and someone managed to hack through the FBI’s firewall to get access to files, and nothing was touched except certain ones that <em>shouldn’t</em> have been touched, but they were and now they’re like… floating in space or something like the imposters in <em>Among Us </em>and—”</p><p>Hotchner closed his eyes. “Garcia.”</p><p>“Right, right, the point, get to the point,” she rambled, gesturing to her screens. “The point is everyone’s files about cases wasn’t touched except.” She bit her lip. “Except one.”</p><p>Now he was watching her, tilting his head slightly to the side expectantly.</p><p>"Specifically… George Foyet.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hello, hello! It's me again, back with more crazy fruit loops, family bonding, team bonding... and absolutely ready to do something I've wanted to do for years. I started it once and never was happy with the outcome of it. I may delete it some day over on FFN to avoid confusion honestly; we'll see.</p><p>Who's ready for a sequel? It's me, I'm so ready for a sequel. And I hope you all are too! I was gonna post this on like... Sunday the 27th, but it's been a stressful holiday season. Here we go!</p><p>The Criminal Minds fans don't need to read the prequel to this- What Means the Most- so just know that Danny's parents know of his secret identity after an incident and we've got some severe canon divergence because I like my BAU team like this. The Danny Phantom peeps will learn quickly who the Behavioral Analysis Unit members are as well because I have huge feels about things. And don't even worry about the pairings... it's the slowest of slow burns.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Square Piece, Round Hole</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>They're not even going to consider a serial killing ghost for this because it's a little too out there; someone has some shifty secret shit ideas.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>"Evil is knowing better, but willingly doing worse." Philip Zimbardo.</em>
</p><p>[ x ]</p><p>
  <em>Casper High School.<br/>
Amity Park, Minnesota.</em>
</p><p>September. Lunchtime.</p><p>“Oh, thank <em>god,</em>” the teenager mumbled, shoving the paper back into his backpack as his friend sat next to him with a vegetarian option. She eyed some of the items with distaste before picking up a plastic fork to scoop them on to a napkin. “At least I can pass the first test and not be a screw-up yet.”</p><p>Sam Manson glanced over as she grabbed another napkin and picked up the food scraps. “Danny don’t even start with that. Do <em>not</em> start with that talk; we’re literally <em>three weeks</em> into the school year.”</p><p>Danny Fenton groaned softly, grabbing a couple of French fries and shaking his head. “I know, Sam, but. C’mon. It’s <em>junior year</em>; we’re halfway done with our high school careers and already supposed to know what we wanna do <em>after</em> high school and--“</p><p>“Dude don’t make us drug you again. After last year? Don’t think we could do it again.”</p><p>Tucker Foley’s voice interrupted the already-slightly panicked sixteen-year-old, dropping his bookbag across the way from his two friends and climbing over the bench to sit with his own lunch. It was three weeks into a new year at Casper High School, and with it came a new workload among other things. Danny glanced up from his lunch, clenching his teeth briefly before unclenching. “Pretty sure my parents would do that.”</p><p>Sam said nothing, only looking up and around the lunchroom before going back to her food. Knowing them, they might have made it worse for the teenager.</p><p>Tucker was already searching through his social media feed, scratching his neck. “You guys been keeping up with the news?”</p><p>“I kinda have to,” his friend replied tiredly, watching his best friend. “What’s the status on those murders? Do they have any clues?”</p><p>Tucker slid his phone over, and Danny wiped his fingers before picking it up and reading it in a quick murmur.</p><p>’<em>The series of murders continued in Amity Park, with no trace of who or what may be the source; two people- Flynn Fenton, 22, and Robyn Ross, 20- were found murdered in their car last night. Ross succumbed to numerous stab wounds, and Fenton was found shot in the head. The Eye of Providence was painted on the window in blood, with Ross’s cell phone missing and Fenton’s glasses as well. The fountain pen of murder victims Judd Stables, 57, and bracelet of Alena Stables, 60, were also found on their person. No arrests have been made at this time.’</em></p><p>Sam shuddered, looking around. “<em>Nothing</em> like this has happened in- god, I can’t remember how long. I don’t even <em>think</em> the Amity Park Chronicle has even covered one in the time they’ve been around.” She took the phone and gazed at the article. “No wonder their reporting sounds so… kiddish.”</p><p>“It’s bad when social media is all over the damn thing and covering it <em>better</em> than the APC,” Tucker said sourly. “Wouldn’t be surprised if they start asking for hints or tips or whatever to catch the guy.”</p><p>Danny remained quiet, closing his eyes and picking up another French fry. He chewed it, listening to both of his friends talking about the murders while his mind drifted off. Something felt wrong about this- about all of it. Something felt <em>off</em>, more so than normal. Serial killers were not normal in Amity Park; they had <em>ghosts</em> of all things, not psychos looking to stir up panic like this.</p><p>It kept hinting back to <em>him,</em> but that could not be right. He had not seen the old man in three months. It should have been a dream come true, but all it brought on was a sense of anxiety that never really went away. Even with some medication that claimed to help with anxiety and depression, albeit not <em>prescribed</em>, it did no good for him. The thoughts were like a sick obsession that would not leave him.</p><p>It was wrong, wrong, wrong.</p><p>Everything felt <em>wrong.</em></p><p>“Uh. Danny?”</p><p>Danny jerked his head out of his thoughts. “Huh?”</p><p>“You really <em>are</em> a dreamer and not a doer,” Sam muttered. “One of these days, that’s gonna get you killed.”</p><p>“Half-killed.”</p><p>“Not funny.”</p><p>Danny shrugged at this and sighed, resting his head in an open palm. “So, uh. What’re you thinking?”</p><p>Sam pursed her lips in thought. “The Chronicle is saying we’ve got- gh. Seven bodies in three days. All of them have something taken from the crime scene that was on them, then it’s found on the next person who’s dead a day- or hours- later.” She held her chin in thought, frowning deeply. “I could see who has that sort of signature for—"</p><p>“Hold on, hold on, hold on,” Tucker interrupted, putting his hands out. “You aren’t <em>seriously</em> thinking of trying to catch this weirdo, right?”</p><p>She raised a brow. “Not <em>catch</em>, but maybe we can—"</p><p>“Sam, this ain’t some spooky ghost this time. This is a <em>murderer.</em> Like a <em>real</em> <em>person</em> going around killing people because of some crazy thing wrong with them.” Tucker looked over at Danny, eyes wide as if he were almost <em>begging</em> for his support. “We could be <em>next</em> or something and not even <em>know.</em> People are joking it’s a ghost or something, but. We don’t <em>know</em> of any killer ghosts!”</p><p>“<em>You</em> don’t know of any killing ghosts. Haven’t you heard of—”</p><p>Danny’s mind wandered again at Tucker’s comment, and he frowned. Killing ghosts- murderous ghosts. The only one he had met was half-ghost, but… Vlad had not fallen that far yet.</p><p>At least he <em>hoped</em> he had not. He would have to maybe do some digging tonight.</p><p>What the hell was going on?</p>
<hr/><p>“<em>MURDERS IN AMITY PARK CAUSE MORE PANIC.”</em></p><p>“Did you know that Amity Park, Minnesota is considered the creepiest place in the United States?” Reid asked, flipping through the stack of papers on his desk. “They say that an average of about two ghost attacks a month take place there and they have their <em>own separate</em> <em>article</em> on the National Geographic website for haunted places in the U.S.”</p><p>Morgan raised a brow over his folder and stared at the special agent. “Look, I know you’re into the spooky Halloween stuff, but we still got a <em>month</em> to go before then.”</p><p>Reid frowned. “What’s that got to do with anything?”</p><p>From the next desk over, Lewis shook her head. “Here we go,” she mumbled.</p><p>“I’m not saying don’t get excited over the holidays, but you’re <em>way</em> early this year, kid,” Morgan countered. “It’s only the seventeenth, and you’re already keepin’ tabs on ghosts and stuff. You and I both know they don’t exist.”</p><p>The youngest member pursed his lips for a moment at this. “I dunno; I’ve been reading a lot about this place ever since they’ve showed up in the news about the deaths going on there. Apparently, it’s been almost sixty <em>years</em> since a serial killer was loose there; they didn’t even need the FBI either. The entire case was solved by the police department.”</p><p>Lewis leaned back in her chair. “So why are they getting one suddenly out of the blue? And why haven’t <em>we</em> been called up about it?”</p><p>“They may think they can handle it. It <em>has</em> been sixty years, right?” Morgan reasoned.</p><p>[ x ]</p><p>Normally, he would have gone down to see her and talk to her again. Something kept tickling the back of his mind about <em>that file</em> and it would not leave it alone. It was an obsession he knew deep down had never left him alone, even though the killer was dead. He had been dead for six plus years, and yet as he poured over the files once again and his office phone rang… he had that feeling.</p><p>It was that sick feeling that something was wrong; somewhere, something was very wrong.</p><p>Hotch had seen the reports of what was going on in Minnesota; he kept up with the news, and Garcia had come to him with the ongoing social media chatter of a murderer in the small town of Amity Park. She had checked up on file after file about the place, coming up with constant claims of ghost activity and paranormal instances involving a teenager with white hair and green eyes.</p><p>Outlets claimed he was a hero, as did Twitter and other websites. Some were <em>extremely</em> vocal about how the boy had ruined their lives, however, even with the defense for ‘Invis-O-Bill’ often coming to the surface. Garcia would often bring this up to Hotch, but he quietly brushed it off while keeping his nose in his files. Murderers, he could deal with. The concept of ghosts was foreign to him, almost stupid even. After almost being dead once, he never saw an afterlife of sorts.</p><p>Maybe Amity Park was hiding a lot more skeletons in the closet than the city let on.</p><p>After a fifth ring, Hotch picked up the phone and leaned forward in his chair. “Hotchner.”</p><p>“<em>Hotch</em>?”</p><p>He frowned softly at the trembling voice. “Garcia? What’s going on?”</p><p>“<em>I think you better come listen to this.</em>”</p><p>Hotch had hung up the phone and strode out of the office faster than his other team members could even blink.</p><p>[ x ]</p><p>She had pulled up the speaker phone, already furiously typing when he walked into the room. Garcia turned around, and he nodded before looking up at the monitors. Maps and voice recognition software was pulled up on-screen, and she jabbed her feather pen into the speakerphone icon. “Sir, are you still there?”</p><p>The voice was deep, almost fractured with some sort of distorter software as Hotch stared at the map with arms folded and a frown forming. “<em>Oh͝ I a͝m. Never͜ ͠mǫv̸ed fr͟om ͜t҉h͏is ̶spot.</em>”</p><p>“You said you had some information about some murders occurring in Amity Park, Minnesota?” she reiterated softly, fingers gliding across the keyboard with eerie grace. “Do you have a name?”</p><p>“<em>Unfortunately, I ͠wi҉sh to͜ ̡r̡emain͟ a̵nǫn͝ym͜o͏us,͟</em><em>"  </em>it replied, Hotch clenching his fists hidden under his arms. “<em>Bu̢t I do ha͞ve th̢a̶t͘ informa̸ti̴on̢ you migh̨t̢ b̕e lo̷oki͝n͝g͡ f͜o͞r. ̛And ͘I know the̶ cop̶s ͡there ri̢g͢h͢t no͜w a͠r̵en’̧t̕ s̵eeking help <strong>qu҉ite</strong> y͘et,̶ ̢b͝u͜t ţh͟ey ̧w̶il̷ļ b̵e̡ soo̸n̴.”</em></p><p>Garcia glanced up at her boss; he remained fixated on the screens with his frown deepening. She turned back to the phone with a deep breath. “…ah, what can you- tell us about what’s…”</p><p>“<em>...goi̧ng o҉n̢?"</em> it interrupted. “<em>T̶h͠at’s simple͢.̛ I bȩli̷e̡ve̡ y̧ou saw my ͏m͘essage about a mon̢t͠h ͝a͟go now͝, ̷d̡id͡ yo҉u ͠n̸ot?͠”</em></p><p>That had Garcia pause and Hotch take the reins; that calm side to the unit chief hid a simmering anger at the realization that <em>this</em> was the one that hacked the system. “George Foyet died in 2009, but I assume you read all about that when you took the files in the meantime.”</p><p>Silence was in the air before the distorted voice chuckled. “<em>Oh my. You b͏ro͢ught h̴im in̨t͞o th̡i̷s?̵”</em></p><p>“What’s your endgame?” Hotch countered, watching the map work to triangulate a destination. “What does <em>he</em> have to do with the string of murders in Amity Park?”</p><p>“̵<em>N̴ow se̷e̵, A͡ge͠nt H͟o̡t̵ch͡n̵e͢r, if͘ I ̸t͏old͡ you ̡that̢…͟ we͢ll n̢ow̷. ̡It wo̶uldn’t͟ ̡b̴e͢ ̛so̶ fu̶n̛ ͡t̕o w̸atch yo͏u̴ ̷squir҉m̢ w̶h͞en ̛you ąrrived ͘he̕re. ̴I ha҉ve ̸to s̴a̵y҉, h̷e was ̢right, though- ̕yo͠u a͏re </em><em>a̢ har͝d on͢e͘ t͡o ̴c̸r҉a͠c̛k͘."</em>  The voice seemed to smile at this. “<em>And I can’t w̧ai̡t̷ to ͏se͝e ̵the ̸look̵ ͏o͜n your͞ fac͞e̕ ̸whe͏n̴ ҉you ̛a͟rrive.”</em></p><p>Hotch never moved; the whisper in the back of his head questioned how this person knew him, but it would have to wait. The triangulation brought up a payphone in Amity Park with thirteen seconds remaining on the other end. “Hacking into a federal database can get you twenty years alone for what you’ve accomplished.”</p><p>“̴O͞n̴l͡y if y͢oư c̸an ̶c҉atch m͘e̢."</p><p>The line went dead; Garcia looked up at the triangulation map and frowned, bringing it to her main screen and pulling up several more screens. Hotch remained standing, thinking with his frown still on his face. The technical analyst frowned as well, chewing her lower lip. “C’mon, baby… show me the goods… and the <em>money</em> please…” Another few keystrokes whizzed by before she slammed the enter key. “<em>Booyaka</em>! Got it.”</p><p>Hotch looked down at the screen. Garcia grinned as the man leaned over, and she moved to the left. “He was pinging to the payphone. Check out where it came from.”</p><p>The screen at the bottom flashed “<em>Arcadia, WI: 608-857-8377. Time: 03:20.”</em></p><p>“…our ‘anonymous’ caller for Minnesota made it from Wisconsin?” she asked with a frown. “That’s a brain teaser if I’ve ever seen it.”</p><p>Hotch stood back up, his face never changing. “We can worry about the where later. I want to know <em>who</em> made that call first. Can you work through the call again and figure out what you can strip out to get a real voice?”</p><p>Garcia’s frown melted away. “Oh sir. All you needed to do was ask.”</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em>Amity Park, Minnesota.</em>
</p><p>“Drinkin’ already?”</p><p>The man glanced up from his glass of whiskey, swirling it gently. “Finished murdering already?”</p><p>Foyet snorted, watching the other toss his phone on the hotel bed. “Don’t get so cranky. Last I checked, I was doin’ you a favor with scarin’ the crap out of everyone here, includin’ that kid.” He pulled out a knife and examined it, lazily floating across the room. “I’m pretty sure he and his little band of dumbasses are tryin’ to figure out what’s goin’ on.”</p><p>Vlad Masters took a third of the glass in one swallow, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. It felt too casual, too out-of-place for him to be wearing jeans and a sweatshirt with a pair of sunglasses on the table. His hair was only half-up, the remainder of it still past his shoulders with slight waves going through it. “I’d <em>hardly</em> consider my attitude cranky, Foyet.”</p><p>“So, how’d it go? Is that idiot droppin’ by soon?”</p><p>“That obsession of yours is dangerous,” Vlad told him gently. There was a strange smirk on his face, even with his head still back. “But don’t worry; I think a couple more with some social media influence and a real show of your talents should do the trick.”</p><p>The Boston Reaper floated head over heels before he inhaled sharply and steadied himself in the upright position. “Like yours with a sixteen-year-old isn’t? Look, old man. Face it- you and I are the same… ‘cept I dunno how many people you’ve murdered.”</p><p>Vlad pulled his head back up with that smirk still present. “Ah, but you see. I’m not into little girls.”</p><p>“Naw. Just little teenage boys.” Foyet snorted before flashing his own smirk. “Y’want me to pick you up somethin’ from the liquor place in the corner?”</p><p>Vlad waved a hand at the comment, pulling out another cell phone in the process. Foyet mumbled something before disappearing through the wall, leaving the billionaire alone with his dark and troubled thoughts. The billionaire flipped through the Twitter feed; eyes narrowed as he saw <em>#AmityPark</em> trending near the bottom. Could have been about ghosts, could have been about the murders- who knew?</p><p>He swiped out of the application before going to the phone. Fingers rapidly typed in a number before he hit the speaker icon and held the phone in his fingers. The phone rang for several rings, but he waited patiently. Finally, an irritable voice answered. “<em>Davis.”</em></p><p>“Oh good. Only took two minutes.”</p><p>“<em>Masters. Was wonderin’ when you was gonna ring me up again.” </em>The voice perked up almost instantly. “<em>Whaddya need?”</em></p><p>Vlad remained relaxed in his chair. “You remember the one we spoke of, right? Number six-two-eight-five-seven?”</p><p>Davis snorted on the other end. “<em>Cripes, how can I f’get the kid? Pacin’ like a lion in da cage. Y’got the money?”</em></p><p>“Do you have a timeline?”</p><p>“<em>Oi! I always got a timeline for ya. You gimmie ta’ funds, you gotcha’self a free man.”</em></p><p>Vlad rubbed his index finger and thumb together, glancing at the finger he had been chewing with a smile. “You’ll have it in two hours. On my word.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So, Christmas happened! Hope you all had a nice one; let's not talk about mine.</p><p>[LONG STANDING RANT ABOUT HOW POORLY MY FAVORITE WAS TREATED LIKE HIS BROTHER WITH LOTS OF SCREAMING INTO A MEGAPHONE AND POINTING AT THE CRIMINAL MINDS WRITERS.] ...ma'am, this is a Wendy's.</p><p>Anyway, don't mind me, we get a (sort of!) feral boy in the next chapter. Hooray!! </p><p>I love you all to bits; if you could toss a little feedback for your flopping essential worker, I would love you forever.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Serial Killer of Lore</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>More famous than they ever realized- at least, that's the goal in Amity Park.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“<em>You finished your homework, right?”</em></p><p>He inhaled sharply, gritting his teeth before exhaling slowly. It almost sounded like a hiss and such. “If I <em>didn’t,</em> I don’t think I could have gone out tonight,” he replied with forced calm. “I’m looking around really quick because apparently people think this could be a ghost. And by <em>people</em>, we mean Sam.”</p><p>“<em>Look it was a fffffrickin’ suggestion, Danny,”</em> his friend huffed irritably. “<em>I didn’t mean for you to go out and start <strong>looking around</strong> for a serial killer the same night!”</em></p><p>Tucker snorted softly into the headset. “<em>You mean ‘fucking.’”</em></p><p>From another connected line, a headset rustled loudly, and a groan was heard. “<em>Oh god.”</em></p><p>Without another word, Phantom turned off his earpiece and pinched the bridge of his nose. Putting both his family <em>and</em> friends on the same line was by far a terrible idea, and he had argued against it. Of course, he was outvoted and now forced to listen to conversations he wanted no part of and casual jokes about his occupation. At least with his earpiece off, he could have some peace and quiet while he searched.</p><p>To be fair, it was while he searched <em>and</em> tried to sort out his thoughts.</p><p>Phantom had not tapped into his darker side since those three months ago when he had been pounding Vlad Plasmius’s face into the concrete. He knew deep down that Plasmius had deserved it, but did that really matter? Did that really matter in the grand scheme of things when he was no better than the man who had tried to turn him, take his mom, kill his dad… clone him?</p><p>Take his family hostage?</p><p>Was he any better than Plasmius?</p><p>And just how <em>did</em> he unlock that feral half of him? What had happened? Was it just his family in danger, or was it something more? Were his family and friends putting up a façade for accepting him?</p><p>Phantom landed on a rooftop and sighed heavily, sitting at the edge and staring over the city. It was unusually quiet these last few nights apparently thanks to the murderer on the loose; he was almost thankful no one was running around, not even ghosts. It made things easier now; that one quick scan before—</p><p>Something moved.</p><p>He pushed himself off the rooftop, turning invisible with his legs merging to form a tail wisp. The white-haired ghost floated in the air, looking around slowly before exhaling and beginning to duck around into the alleyways between the crammed apartments. He swore he had seen something moving, even if he did not know what it was. Maybe it had been a ghost.</p><p>He prayed it was that.</p><p>There was the sound of something rustling again, and Phantom dropped to the ground while looking around a corner. His heart stopped.</p><p>Someone was looming over a couple in the alleyway, a knife dripping with blood in his hand. The figure seemed to lift the blade to his face, looking back down at his work with the two women and letting out a soft chuckle. “You ladies picked a terrible night to shoot it up,” he cooed softly. “Good old suburban house moms looking to get away from the kids? This place <em>is</em> almost better than Boston.”</p><p>Better than <em>Boston?</em> Phantom gritted his teeth, coming into view with hands glowing but trembling. “…h-hey!”</p><p>The creature turned to the teenager almost boredly before his eyes widened. A grin split his face in half, and Phantom could not stop the sharp gasp. The man looked no more than in his late forties, his hair a light brown and a strange look in his eyes. He wore a black sweatshirt, lowering the blade with that smile still. “Took y’long enough.”</p><p>“What did you <em>do</em> to them?” Phantom growled softly. His attempts to sound tough were ruined by the stare at the women with tears forming in his eyes. It could not be- was this…?</p><p>Was that—</p><p>“Well, that’s easy, kid,” the man replied flippantly, turning back to the bodies with a shrug. “I killed ‘em.”</p><p>It was. It was the one who had been murdering people; it was the serial killer Sam had suggested to them at lunch that afternoon, but it was.</p><p>It was wrong.</p><p>It was <em>wrong</em>.</p><p>The murderer had an <em>aura,</em> not at all akin to his own and other ghosts’ as well. This was familiar, this was almost like facing Plasmius when he had completely lost his marbles when they fought. This thing was murderous, and it only had Phantom clenching his fists tighter and feeling a familiar anger creeping into his mind. It was dark, furious; his own aura began to flicker to a darker green as he bared his teeth in a snarl, complete with fangs. “…you’re the one.”</p><p>“Hn?”</p><p>“You… it’s <em>you. You’re</em> the one who’s been murdering people,” he snarled, eyes darkening. “But you’re a fucking <em>ghost!”</em></p><p>The other man considered this for a moment before he sheathed the knife; now he was pulling out a .44 Magnum S&amp;W 629, the grin never going away. Phantom’s eyes instantly seemed to revert to the emerald green, his darker aura fading away just as swiftly as he floated backwards. The murderer floated after him lazily, his legs merging to form a ghost tail as well. “Sorry, kid. Not a ghost.” He cocked the weapon, pointing it at the hybrid. “I’m supposed to be a <em>wraith</em> now.”</p><p>Phantom’s eyes widened with fear. “A <em>what?”</em></p><p>Wraith? Only <em>ghosts</em> existed, only <em>ghosts</em> were supposed to be the supernatural element in Amity Park. So, he thought; he would have to consider this much later before he turned invisible mere <em>nanoseconds</em> before the sound of a gunshot rang out in the neighborhood. Phantom reappeared, with his hand frantically touching his ear as the deemed ‘wraith’ shot at him once again.</p><p>His body seemed to dismantle itself in a spectral wisp on instinct before there was the talk of a possible football party that entered his ears. “<em>I’m telling you, just bring the chips! I’ll make my famous Fenton Family Dip, complete with—”</em></p><p>“<strong><em>HEY.</em></strong>”</p><p>Phantom’s harsh shout into the phone cut all conversation short, Maddie sighing softly. “<em>Danny, you’ve been quiet. We thought you—</em>”</p><p>“<strong><em>Please </em></strong>shut up, I’m being<strong><em> shot at,</em></strong>” he interrupted hoarsely, his body coming back together. “I’m being <strong><em>fucking shot at.</em></strong> By a <strong><em>ghost.</em></strong>”</p><p>Sam seemed to adjust the position of her FentonPhones. “<em>When did this become a big deal?”</em></p><p>The self-proclaimed wraith grinned, cocking the barrel again and aiming at the teenager. There was a gunshot once again; lights were coming on in the homes, and Phantom swerved left. “With a <em>gun.</em> With a <strong><em>real fucking gun</em></strong>. With fucking bullets and shit, and I don’t know if they can fucking <strong><em>kill me.</em></strong>”</p><p>“<em>What part of town, Danny?”</em> Jack asked briskly, the sound of typing on the other end. “<em>Do you have an address or a landmark?”</em></p><p>Phantom unconsciously let out a sigh of relief. “Um. Uh… Sixth and Rogue? I need to get him away from here somehow, it’s in a civi- wait.”</p><p>The hybrid turned around now before the killer gave him the smallest smile and raised a hand with gray energy. “Got a name?”</p><p>“<em>Fuck- </em>I mean—!!”</p><p>Phantom barely avoided an energy strike, the burning energy flying past his head as he ducked down and under the wraith. It turned around, blade in hand once again and gun out of sight; it licked his lips at the sight. “Now I get the obsession. Picked a hell of a kid.”</p><p>“What obsession? Who the <em>hell</em> are you?!”</p><p>The man chuckled once again at the fury from the hybrid, his hands glowing again that lighter green. “Name’s Foyet. George Foyet, kid. They call me the Boston Reaper- look it up! I’m a famous serial killer, and I’m about to ramp up that infamy up by tenfold.” He seemed to take absolute delight in this introduction. “So, your little shithole town better get ready.”</p><p>Phantom’s aura began to darken once again, his hands turning that darker green with a snarl peeling back on his lips. The fangs showed once again. “My little… you want it? Come and <em>take it,</em> asshole. You’re gonna have to deal with me. <em>Danny Phantom.”</em></p><p>“Ohh, you got some spunk.” Foyet winked and pointed his blade at the teenager. “I like it, Danno. Don’t worry- I’ll be seein’ you around. And your new friends too.”</p><p>With a spin of his blade and a slice through the air, Foyet opened a portal (Phantom <em>blanched</em>) and disappeared through the gate with a wisp and a laugh.</p>
<hr/><p>“Bronco, you better come see this.”</p><p>The witness sat on the sidewalk’s edge, a blanket around his shoulders and trembling. His head was in his hands, the detective clapping the shoulder gently with a murmur that he would be right back. The teenager nodded, closing his eyes and adjusting himself slightly on the ground; Bronco pulled the blanket up more on the teen’s shoulders before walking over. “Yeah?”</p><p>The lieutenant gestured to the two women with a sigh. “Robyn Ross’s cell was in her purse.”</p><p>Bryan Bronco sighed, his hands in his pockets as he gazed as the other victim with glasses on her face. “Fenton’s glasses, too. You know what this means, yeah?”</p><p>The cop shook his head. “Not a clue.”</p><p>“You ever heard about the Boston Reaper?” Bronco mumbled quietly, looking over his shoulder at the boy on the sidewalk. “George Foyet, serial killer in Massachusetts, had the <em>exact same</em> modus operandi when he was on his killing spree a few years back. Went to town on the women with stab wounds, shot the men to be done with them. He’d take something from one victim and give them the time he stole from a prior victim.”</p><p>“…Jesus.”</p><p>Bronco turned back to the scene, his gaze softening. “He’d paint the Eye of Providence in the victim’s blood.” He nodded over to the garbage dumpster, said ‘painting’ on the side of the metal container with a single word. “They say he was willing to make a deal with the Feds that if they stopped hunting him, he’d stop murdering people. ‘course they never took it.” He snorted softly. “Came to bite one of the agents in the ass when he was attacked in his house by the bastard.”</p><p>His companion’s face clearly said everything- the entire story will almost ill-inducing, and he had to turn away from the crime scene. Bronco pulled out a package of cigarettes, lighting one and inhaling. The air was eerily quiet between the two of them, the cop watching the witness shift slightly and pull out his phone. He sighed heavily. “So, what do we do, Detective?”</p><p>Bronco exhaled, a plume of smoke coming from his mouth and a look back at the teenager as well. “You got all the other case information, Ives?”</p><p>“Yeah, of course.”</p><p>“I think we better make a phone call, if <em>they</em> haven’t called <em>you</em> already.”</p>
<hr/><p>They had not called yet, but Ives was already staring down at the paperwork in front of him with eyes narrowed and a glance around. There were not many people around then, either having a break or discussing in another room undoubtedly what was happening to their fair city. He walked over to the windows to the main area… and shut the blinds to each pane.</p><p>All four windows were now closed to his office; with a soft exhale, he placed his hands on the desk and dropped his head. “Time out.”</p><p>The room seemed to freeze at this statement, the man still standing in the room before he looked up and shook his head. A portal appeared before him, and he entered it quietly; time seemed to resume the moment he left the room, leaving nary a trace behind.</p><p>The room was dark, and Clockwork gazed at the lieutenant in front of him. “It should work for now until we can catch him.”</p><p>The duplicate shook its head. “Unfortunately, the real lieutenant is less than helpful for this case, as you saw. He shouldn’t be a problem if we can do this quickly.”</p><p>The Master of Time shifted from his older form to his child form. “Well, you know how long it will take. You <em>also</em> know how long he’ll be out for.” He gave the cop a pointed look. “And you know what more needs to be done.”</p><p>“You are a pushy one,” the cop mumbled as Clockwork opened another portal to another office. He gazed at it for a long moment before shaking his head and holding up the file. “Then again… I suppose I <em>am</em> you.”</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>"Are those bullets real?" Real enough for the teen to not want to find out if they're actually real or not.</p><p>Oh hey, I finished the rough outline of this. And is that... <i>a feral boy</i>? Maybe. It might be a glimpse.</p><p>(I am permitted one chapter that falls on its ass unwillingly; it's this one.)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Baseline Assumptions</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The BAU takes a trip to Minnesota with a well-remembered profile and a healthy bit of skepticism at the recent crime scene.</p><p>Danny's functionality after seeing dead bodies is less than great, and he wants some answers. His mother may be able to help with that.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It had taken one group text for the entire unit to realize something was wrong that morning. Go-bags were packed, cars were dropped off at the garage, the sound of feet clacking against the tile floor echoed as each member of the alpha team approached the jet with strained silence.</p><p>
  <em>[Case. Amity Park, Minnesota. Bring five days.]</em>
</p><p>Somehow, it seemed much more reasonable that whoever was doing this was a copycat and a very rabid fan of the murderer in question, especially with the mumbles heard in the office. It also didn’t help that Reid had been reading about the city on his days off sometimes out of sheer curiosity, wondering if the stories about the hauntings were nothing more than that- stories. The most frequent ones were about a ghost kid that articles claimed to ‘protect the city’; others disputed this in turn.</p><p>Tara had mumbled something about it being a small town with a seemingly large history; Dave had declined to comment, but the sound of bottles clanging against glass said more than enough.</p><p>“Where’s Bossman?” Garcia inquired, poking her head into the main space and finding three teammates settling down. “He’s usually the first one here.”</p><p>Dave pursed his lips in thought. “Something about Jessica cancelling out last minute when he called me; they’ve been on thin ice for the last few months, and he’s almost done with her. Someone else was asked to come over to watch the house for a few days with Jack there.”</p><p>Morgan shook his head. “You’d think after what happened, they’d be closer than they were years ago. Just goes to show that sometimes, it really doesn’t work out in the end.”</p><p>Garcia shuffled into the chair across from Morgan, pulling out her laptop as Tara wandered into the cabin with a cup of coffee. “Must be important if Hotch wants you to come along too.” She took her seat next to Morgan, sipping it. “…not to mention thinking it’s a copycat.”</p><p>“We’ve had our share of those over the years, but.” Dave paused at this, looking at his own empty cup. “This guy already is a little <em>too</em> good at what he’s doing.”</p><p>The sound of footsteps up the ramp and into the cabin had heads turning to greet Reid entering the space. He stared at the others before blinking; to be fair, he was always one of the first ones on-board and ready to go. This seemed to be a special case, however; he shrugged lightly finally. “You guys all right?”</p><p>Dave blinked. “Where’s Hotch?”</p><p>“He’ll be on in a few minutes. Apparently finding house sitters is harder than it used to be.”</p>
<hr/><p>It could have been considered an excuse, he guessed, but after seeing two dead bodies and being questioned by the cops yesterday about running across them- it was as good a reason as any to not go to school that day. Handling near-death three months was bad enough. Dealing with the actual death of two moms in an alleyway with over thirty stab wounds on each of their corpses, though?</p><p>That was an entirely different scenario of sorts.</p><p>It did not really help that he could feel the itch of darkness again when he was confronting the one who had murdered them as well. That moment of being feral had him thinking and worried, but it also had him wondering what that trigger was. That time, he did not have any family around for him to be triggered in that sense. It was more an extreme case of emotions overcoming him at the sight of the corpses and the flippant behavior of George Foyet.</p><p>Danny remained laying on his bed, staring at the ceiling. There was no attempt to do any kind of schoolwork, any kind of attempt to research the newest threat in Amity Park. Tucker and Sam were still in school, as was Jazz. His parents were looking over the feeds they had to see if they could craft any sort of theory as to what Foyet’s nature was.</p><p>What the teenager knew, though, was that he had seen dead bodies and a murderous… ghost.</p><p>Wraith.</p><p>What the hell <em>was</em> a wraith anyway?</p><p>The teenager rolled over, now laying face-first and moaning loudly into the comforter. He was not entirely sure whom to ask about this new information of sorts, considering the one he could have asked before was practically a lost cause already. His mind drifted to Clockwork again, but the voice in his head snapped that it was a terrible idea to do this as well.</p><p>Every question did not need to have Clockwork answer it now.</p><p>There had to be someone <em>else</em> out there that could help with- whatever the hell was going on now in Amity Park. This…</p><p>“Danny?”</p><p>The teenager moved his head from the comforter and grunted a little, eyes closed. “Yeah?”</p><p>“Do you want some food?”</p><p>His stomach gurgled in response; what time <em>was</em> it anyway? He did not want to look, but it must have been a point in time for eating to be necessary. Danny pushed himself up slowly to his elbow, rubbing his face and sighing. “Sure, I guess? What’re you thinking?”</p><p>Maddie’s voice remained soft. “The fridge is open, unless you want me to make you something too.”</p><p>Danny did not answer for a minute, thinking before moving slowly again. “You can open the door if you want.”</p><p>The doorknob creaked as his mother poked her head inside and opened the door slowly. She offered her son a small smile, but he could see it: sadness. Neither her nor her husband knew what comfort they could offer to their son after what he had been through, but she did know that she had told him that they were there to talk to them. While he appreciated it, Danny was not sure what they could do either. This was a new situation for all of them.</p><p>It was frightening. The unknown was absolutely <em>frightening.</em></p><p>“You look perturbed,” she noted.</p><p>Danny blinked. “Huh?”</p><p>“Worried. Nervous. On edge.” Maddie stood in the doorway, tilting her head.</p><p>He stood up from his bed, running a hand through his hair with his head resting on the palm of his hand after. “I. …I dunno, I guess just seeing dead bodies kinda fucks with you,” he admitted softly. “I mean, I guess I never thought about how the portal made me half-dead and I’ve never really batted an eye about it until now? It just- sorta never really bothered me, and now I see a real dead body and. Heh. I get fucked up.”</p><p>His mother’s eyes softened. “Danny…”</p><p>“I’ll be fine, I guess.” Danny shook his head. “I think. I just gotta figure out what got this guy here, who he is, <em>what</em> he is, and how to get him back to the Ghost Zone, right? Plus, I have you, Dad… I have a lot of people who can help now.”</p><p>He allowed himself a little laugh; it sounded empty. Maddie’s sad smile faded; Danny needed help with this. He needed a way to let it out, and yet…</p><p>She knew she had been one of the primary factors behind this, and she would take full responsibility for it. In fact, she already had been. “We have leftover taco meat. Maybe nachos?”</p><p>It was an offer; her son shrugged slightly. “Sure.”</p><p>“We can talk about what he might be if you want. You said he’s not a ghost, right?”</p><p>He nodded, leaving his room and walking down the steps. “He said he- he called himself a <em>wraith,</em>” he explained, gripping the railing. “I haven’t heard of that term before, so I kinda just brushed it off at first. Now that I think about it, it’s starting to bother me more and more. I’ve never <em>heard</em> of a wraith before, much less something from the Ghost Zone that wasn’t a <em>ghost.</em>” He walked into the kitchen, turning around. “Have you?”</p><p>He seemed like he was brightening up a tad; he hated talking about himself. Maddie would have to set up an appointment for him to see someone possibly… much as it pained her.</p><p>“Wraith? That’s a new one, even for me,” she said, furrowing her brow.</p><p>“I wanted to know, too, if one of the ghosts had ever like- heard of that. But half of them want to kick my ass and I don’t exactly want to rely on <em>one ghost</em> for help all the time and feel like I’m bothering him constantly—”</p><p>‘<em>You mean like how you feel at home. Like you’re burdening your hero duties on us.’</em></p><p>“—but I have no idea who else to go to,” he continued tiredly. “I mean I dunno if you have any ideas or whatever, but if anyone’s gonna know, I. I guess I thought it’d be you or Dad.”</p><p>Maddie wandered into the kitchen, going to the refrigerator and opening the door. She pulled out the taco meat container and handed it to her son, who took it and was already rummaging around for chips. She stepped out of his way, going to the table and sitting down with her arms on the wood. “I suppose that depends on <em>who</em> you’ve talked to. You said once you’ve spoken to the Master of Time, Clockwork, right?”</p><p>“Yeah, and I know you guys still can’t get over that.”</p><p>“Danny, he’s known throughout history for keeping watch over <em>multiple timelines.</em>”</p><p>“You’re beginning to sound like Dad again.”</p><p>Maddie inhaled at this. “…right, sorry. Anyway, we know there’s Clockwork, Pariah Dark…” She closed her eyes, thinking. She tried to remember, folding her hands over in front of her chest on the table still. “Vortex, a weather ghost locked away in an unknown location… Pandora, who keeps to herself in another space with the legendary Pandora’s Box… hm. Frostbite, the ruler of the Realm of the Far Frozen…”</p><p>Danny put the nacho creation in the microwave and glanced back at his mom. “Jeez, how many do you know of?”</p><p>“Honey, there are a <em>lot</em> of ghosts that exist in the Ghost Zone that have been told throughout history. The problem is that no one wants to ever remember them or talk about it,” Maddie explained. “How those ghosts behave now is up to stories and lore or those who are brave enough to even venture to the Ghost Zone to see these beings for themselves.”</p><p>The microwave beeped, and Danny took out his food. “You said Pariah Dark, right? We already know he’s a vengeful dick who wanted to take over the human world and Ghost Zone until he got shoved back into a coffin.”</p><p>Maddie tilted her head slightly, raising a brow and lower lip pushing out slightly. “Well, you aren’t wrong about that.”</p><p>“I guess I’ll figure something out; it can’t be too hard to find someone that won’t try to beat my ass, right?” Danny picked up a cluster of chips. “The sooner, the better.”</p>
<hr/><p>“I’ve <em>never</em> seen a town as quiet as this,” Tara murmured, getting out of the SUV with a frown. “Don’t mean to be <em>that</em> person, but it really is like a ghost town here right now.”</p><p>Dave shook his head, shutting the door to the driver’s side. “Don’t let Reid hear that; he might not actually shut up about it.” He watched the unit chief park on the opposite side of the walkway, Garcia right behind him with her computer and suitcase. “That said, something about this feels- hinky.”</p><p>“Oh, please don’t say that,” Garcia whimpered. “I don’t like that word.”</p><p>“What word? Hinky?”</p><p>She squeezed her eyes shut, letting out a low noise of despair. “<em>Yes,</em> that one.”</p><p>Reid walked around the front of the other vehicle, Morgan rubbing his face and following behind him. Tara observed this with a raised brow and folding her arms. “Should I ask?”</p><p>“No. Please do not,” Morgan ground out.</p><p>Hotch locked the vehicle, striding through the front door of the Amity Park Police Department with the others following on his heels. He flashed his credentials to the secretary, who was already leading them down the right hall of the building to the main area. Reid could not help but glance around at the various pictures of what appeared to be humans- yet some of them did not. There was an attempt at Photoshop with some of the photos in the corner, with quite a few of them blurry. The only clear one seemed to be of a teenager with white hair and green eyes.</p><p>“Rossi, you seein’ these?” Morgan mumbled to his companion as Reid stopped to read one of the posters.</p><p>Dave shook his head. “Oh, I see it. Not quite sure I <em>believe</em> it.”</p><p>The group fell silent again, racing to catch up to Hotch apart from Reid. He stared at the poster of the teenager and pulled it off the wall, jogging slightly after them.</p><p>The faint voice of a man could be heard coming out of an office, followed by a body matching it. He looked to be of middle age- Hotch guessed late forties- but a far cry from other cops. He had a scar over one of his eyes, watching a rookie cop duck out of his room with a murmured apology. The older cop glanced at the team of federal agents, raising an eyebrow. “You guys must be the Feds; guess it takes all kinds these days.” He held out a hand. “Lieutenant Corey Ives. Thanks for coming.”</p><p>The unit chief grasped it in a firm handshake, nodding. “I’m Agent Hotchner; these are agents Rossi, Reid, Morgan, Lewis, and Garcia. We’re assuming this is a copycat from what we’ve seen.”</p><p>Ives pursed his lips at this, raising a brow for a split moment. “Yeah well. We’re hopin’ so too, agent. With Amity Park, you never know these days.”</p><p>Reid frowned at this, and Ives gestured for them to follow him to another room. “Lieutenant, how long has this been going on for?”</p><p>“Give or take? Maybe a month or so,” he replied, opening the door to a conference room. “We didn’t really think much about it because we don’t <em>have</em> murders here. It’s more- well. It’s a little bit more complicated.”</p><p>Tara blinked. “You guys had this going on for a month, and you didn’t think <em>anything</em> about it?”</p><p>Ives snorted. “Oh, we tried to figure out who the hell was doing it. Believe me, we had the precinct pouring over evidence and victims and stuff for days. It was the most recent one that had us call you guys, though.”</p><p>“The Eye of Providence,” Morgan spoke up.</p><p>“Bingo, agent. In someone’s blood.” Ives grimaced. “Then we learned about the history and connection to the Foyet case from years again, and—”</p><p>“—you asked for our help.” Hotch’s face never changed from its perpetual frown, Garcia already setting up her computer and keeping her files on the table. “The sooner we find out who’s doing this, the sooner we can put a stop to it.” He looked down at one of the files Garcia had placed out. “We need to hit the ground running. Morgan, I want you to go to the most recent crime scene and see if you can find anything that points to the copycat. Rossi, I want you and Lewis to see what you can gather about recent crimes in Amity Park and try to piece together anything that could be connected to the murders.”</p><p>Reid frowned. “And me?”</p><p>Hotch never blinked. “You and I are going to go see the witness who found the bodies and find out what he saw. Danny Fenton, age sixteen, lives with his parents.”</p><p>“He could still be at school, Hotch.”</p><p>He nodded. “Which is why we’re going to go to Casper High School first. It’s one forty-five; we’ve got a half an hour.” Hotch glanced around the room. “Any objections?”</p><p>Garcia raised one finger and opened her mouth. Hotch’s eyes met hers. “I want you to keep in touch with Morgan; we’re short a teammate, so we’ll need you to be his other half.”</p><p>“Better half, at the ready.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hello 2021? Yeah, I'd like to get a refund for the current year's events thus far. I'm not even two weeks in, and it's total garbage.</p><p>Figured Maddie would be able to help Danny with some ideas for other old-timey ghosts who may know a lot of stuff. They're at the forefront of their field, and we know they're not entirely stupid from last time. I'm just gonna keep building on this. ...on that note, it appears my ass seems to have conversations around the lunch slash dinner table frequently with this family. Food bonds people together, I suppose.</p><p>Thanks for dropping in to read this story and for waiting for this chapter; please feel free to leave feedback. I love you all. &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. A Fowl Most Foul</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Vultures and secrets and... ghosts? Oh my.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Amity Park’s murder rate is lower than any other city in Minnesota,” Reid spoke up in the van, watching out the window with Hotch at the wheel. “It’s not that there aren’t any murders here at <em>all,</em> but the news talks more about local ghost attacks and a teenager that seems to protect the people from the angry spirits.” He pursed his lips at this. “Makes you wonder if there really is a ‘ghost hunter’ profession.”</p><p>Hotch almost rolled his eyes at the thought. “If there was, I don’t think it would pay too much.”</p><p>Reid quirked a brow. “I dunno; could you imagine being a ghost hunter and keeping the city safe from that sort of thing and Jack getting to watch you do that?”</p><p>That gave the unit chief pause as he pulled into the school parking lot, finding a spot, and parking the truck. “Jack might want to get <em>involved</em> in that if it exists; you’ve heard him.”</p><p>“Just like his dad,” Reid said softly, shutting the door. “Always wanting to protect people.”</p><p>Hotch did not reply to this statement, pulling out his badge and pressing the button to the handicapped door. The genius followed him inside, glancing at the various sports trophies in the front hall; it was a football-based school, to be sure. The captain was a handsome young man, chest puffed proudly as he held the winning ball in various photos.</p><p>Reid remembered those days; it almost made him wince as he followed his boss to the front office.</p><p>A woman exited from the principal’s office on the left, adjusting her jacket. “Principal Ishiyama,” she spoke crisply, holding out her hand. “Lieutenant Ives told me you were coming.”</p><p>“Principal Ishiyama, I’m Agent Hotchner with the FBI; this is my partner, Agent Reid.” Hotch shook the hand firmly with a glance at Reid, who waved. “We were hoping to speak to one of your students about the recent murders.”</p><p>She pursed her lips. “Ah. You speak of Danny Fenton.”</p><p>“Is he at school today?” Reid inquired.</p><p>The woman shook her head and sighed. “Fenton has taken the last couple of days off to try and wrap his head around seeing two dead bodies. Unfortunately, this hasn’t been the first time for him missing school due to such issues.”</p><p>Hotch frowned at this with a glance at Reid once again. “What do you mean?”</p><p>“It… may be better to talk about it somewhere more private.” She motioned to her office with a glance at her secretary and back to the federal agents. “Would you mind?”</p><p>Reid nodded in turn, following Ishiyama into the office with his boss following behind him. Her office was filled with books and paintings, with her degrees on the back wall behind her. It was not much of an office to begin with, but she clearly took pride and joy in the arts and education; she circled around to her desk, gesturing them to sit. “Please.”</p><p>The genius took the offer to sit; Hotch remained standing, arms folded. “Miss Ishiyama, you said that Mister Fenton has missed time for this kind of things before.”</p><p>She sighed at this, folding her hands in front of her on the desk and closing her eyes. “So he claims- or rather, his family does. They’re well-known for being renowned ghost hunters in Amity Park, and with that comes… I wouldn’t say a fair share of issues.” She pursed her lips at this. “More <em>excitement</em>, I suppose?”</p><p>“Ghost hunters?” Hotch could not keep the skepticism from his tone.</p><p>Ishiyama opened her eyes, unable to stop herself from raising one of her eyebrows. “Hard to believe, I understand. Amity Park <em>does</em> have numerous issues with ghosts and the supernatural, Agent Hotchner, and we do happen to have others that have access to portals and such.” She adjusted herself in the chair. “Are you aware the so-called government agency, the Guys in White?”</p><p>Reid’s brow wrinkled in thought. “Wait, is <em>that</em> what they’re calling themselves here?”</p><p>Hotch shook his head, the smallest smile crossing his features. “Somehow, that surprises me less than Amity Park’s belief in ghosts.”</p><p>“I’m sorry?” Ishiyama blinked with confusion.</p><p>“The Paranormal Defense Agency is a top-secret government agency that deals with paranormal phenomenon and supernatural beings,” Hotch explained calmly. “They have sub-branches that deal with various types of so-called supernatural creatures, and the one well-known to the public… is the self-proclaimed ‘Guys in White.’”</p><p>“I’m surprised their base is here in Amity Park and out in the open,” Reid mused, resting his chin on top of a closed fist and gazing thoughtfully at the back wall. “It almost makes me want to go and see where it is and what they have the cover for—”</p><p>“Reid.”</p><p>The younger agent shrugged apologetically, sitting back up. “Sorry.”</p><p>As interested (and somewhat irritated) as Hotch was in the idea of one of the government’s most secretive branches located in a small town in the United States, he knew they had a much more important task at hand. “Principal Ishiyama, about Mister Fenton—”</p><p>“You want to have other examples of him missing class and such?”</p><p>Reid pursed his lips. “What sort of kid is Danny? Any interests, hobbies, other things?”</p><p>Ishiyama sighed finally, straightening in her chair as well and facing the two federal agents. “Danny Fenton is… unique. Bullied frequently, big dreams, little motivation. He’s a smart boy, no doubt about it- but his grades suffer frequently, he has detention more so than other kids in the school. Last year, there seemed to be an incident that…”</p><p>She fell silent here, frowning softly. Hotch gazed at her softly, patiently.</p><p>“It’s taken some time for him to readjust after he struggled through the last week of school, according to one of his teachers. His freshman and sophomore year were rather rough as ghost attacks seemed to increase on a regular basis; his grades have been steady and- poor. C-average, missing days for mental health or other reasons…” Ishiyama bit her lip. “It’s frankly worrisome.”</p><p>Reid glanced over at Hotch, who was frowning at Ishiyama’s observations; he could already see the wheels turning in his brain about this teenage kid and his struggles.</p><p>So were his own, though- bullied. Big dreams. Undoubtedly by the football team, no less. Probably the kid that wanted to be ignored in class, kept quiet with maybe a few friends…</p><p>“As it stands, he’s going to be off tomorrow as well and possibly Friday. The recent string of murders has been a mild deterrent for the kids staying home or even keeping outings to a minimum, and I would assume the same thing would happen to him… unless his parents go searching for the culprit.” Ishiyama shook her head. “The police definitely want to confirm it’s a human; the public thinks it’s something else.”</p><p>Hotch and Reid both knew what that ‘<em>something else</em>’ was now- not that either of them could believe such a thing really existed.</p><hr/><p>“So, uh. Whaddya think?”</p><p>The bird snorted through his beak with a headshake. “Da man’s lost his ma’bles. Shoulda neva’ signed up for dis’ kinda work, if ya ask me.”</p><p>Three green vultures sat atop a building, glancing at one another, and ruffling their feathers. One of the birds ruffled his wings and grumbled, claws gripping tight to the brick wall. “Y’always whine an’ complain about stupid watch work. Las’ I checked, we aren’ as young and spry as you wan’ us t’be, so we gotta do da har’ stuff.”</p><p>The vulture with the sunglasses groaned loudly. “Bu’ <em>really?</em> A <em>crime scene?</em> Tha’s beenin’… I ‘unno-”</p><p>“Cripes, you really gonna be pullin’ <em>that</em> card? Da boss is gonna—”</p><p>“<em>Oi.</em> Shutcha mouth, here he comes!”</p><p>The trio fell silent, watching a bald man step out of the SUV and shutting the door with a look around. His gun was in his holster, sighing as he stepped in the alleyway and tapping his ear. “You good, Baby Girl? Got a view?”</p><p>One of the birds wrinkled their face at this.</p><p>The agent shook his head. “Tell me about it.”</p><p>[ x ]</p><p>If there was one thing Derek Morgan hated more than anything, it was unknown subjects (UnSubs) deciding to come after the team. The only way to make it <em>worse</em> was deciding to <em>copy</em> one of the worst cases they faced almost down to a tee.</p><p>The agent sat in the SUV outside of the alleyway, staring at the crime scene before leaning back in the chair and shaking his head. Of all the cases in their history for this sick person to recreate, they really had to recreate the <em>George Foyet</em> case. It was all over social media; it was already being covered by the local news; the story seemed to have caught <em>fire</em> overnight.</p><p>With a sigh, he got out of the vehicle and shut the door, walking to the crime scene. “You good, Baby Girl? Got a view?”</p><p>“<em>Eurgh. Front row seat to a crime scene with all the fixings? Wouldn’t miss it.</em>” His partner sighed as well over the line. “<em>Guy’s got a real sick sense of humor, though; I know Hotch said this is supposed to be a copycat but- this entire thing gives me the heebie-jeebies.</em>” The sound of typing was heard in his ear as he glanced around. “<em>Also? The idea of ghosts around here? Like, actual ghosts existing? It’s creepy—”</em></p><p>Morgan shook his head. “Tell me about it.”</p><p>“<em>I wasn’t done!”</em></p><p>“We can talk about it later. Focus, Garcia.”</p><p>Garcia made a noise akin to pouting before her typing stopped. “<em>…you always ruin my fun.”</em></p><p>“That’s my job.” He placed his hands on his hips and stared at the scene for a moment. “Witness says that he heard the guy telling the victims about a night of takin’ drugs, then a local guy tried to scare him off with no luck.” Morgan looked at the bloodied eye on the dumpster. “One thing taken, another placed at the spot of the crime- it all lines up.”</p><p>The clacking of keys was heard on the other end. “<em>A little <strong>too</strong> well, my dove. Someone in our fair city has a few cameras set up- privately, of course. Let me see if I can sweet-talk my…”</em></p><p>Morgan frowned, dropping his hands, and looking around again. The temperature seemed to drop several degrees in seconds; the sun was still shining, however. There were no signs of cloud cover in the area, but the chill down his back seemed to suggest otherwise.</p><p>What the hell happened in the last four seconds?</p><p>A voice sounded irritated. “Ugh, <em>really?</em>”</p><p>“Maurice, this is <em>boooooring.</em> Can we <em>go</em> now?”</p><p>Who was <em>that?</em></p><p>“Y’gonna be heard, ya dumbass.”</p><p>“So are you!”</p><p>Morgan’s hand unconsciously moved to his gun, turning around slowly to look behind him with Garcia chattering in his ear. He closed his eyes, finally concentrating on her voice once again. “…<em>lo? Morgan? Chocolate Thunder? Sweet baboo?”</em></p><p>He visibly shuddered. “Garcia?”</p><p>“<em>You zoned on me! What happened?</em>” Garcia’s perky tone was gone, now replaced with genuine worry. “<em>Did you figure something out?</em>”</p><p>Morgan swallowed. “Somethin’ goin’—” Turning around, he froze with hand still on his hip and a sharp inhale.</p><p>He <em>had</em> to be seeing things.</p><p>Three green vultures were now sitting on the dumpster, one of them snapping its beak at another with a pair of sunglasses on its beak. They were almost glowing, their feathers flickering with embers while wearing <em>fezzes.</em> The vulture with sunglasses seemed to raise a wing and smack one with a rounder beak. “<em>See?</em> I told ya! <em>Gonna be heard.</em>”</p><p>Morgan’s face spoke volumes- utter confusion. Suspicion. <em>Disbelief.</em></p><p>“Well, dat’s great. Now he can see us,” the one with the axe beak spoke sardonically. “Jus’ what we always wanted, boys. A cop.”</p><p>“Naw naw naw, da’s a Fed.”</p><p>“I ain’ hungry.”</p><p>“Not <em>dat</em> kinda fed, like a <em>big</em> cop. A Fed.”</p><p>“From da’ capital?”</p><p>The birds seemed to more interested with the current topic at hand, much to Morgan’s (unconscious) relief. “… …Garcia, you uh.”</p><p>It took Garcia a long minute to respond as she stared at the screen from the station. “<em>M-Morgan?</em>”</p><p>“You didn’t. Y’know.” He inhaled slowly. “You didn’t, like. Spike the coffee. Before I left.”</p><p>“<em>If I spiked your coffee, then someone must have spiked mine. And mine has been next to me the <strong>whole time,</strong> and now I’m seeing… green feathered friends?!</em>” Garcia’s voice became shrill. “<em>Derek Morgan, what the <strong>hell</strong> is going on here?!”</em></p><p>The shriek in Morgan’s ear made him wince, along with getting the three vultures to quit their bickering amongst themselves at long last. There was a gust of wind in the alleyway before Morgan finally snapped from his trance and pulled his gun from its holster.</p><p>The bird seemed to all act in sync, shrieking an unearthly noise that <em>echoed</em> around them and flying towards the federal agent. Morgan swung his gun at one of them, his hand freely moving through the neck of the animal with a green wisp following suit. His eyes widened at this, and the bird squawked before its talons swiped at him.</p><p>Morgan ducked from the attack, seeing the vulture with sunglasses diving to dig <em>its</em> talons into his body. Gritting his teeth, he yanked his arm away from the coming slice before gripping the gun in both hands. Garcia <em>had</em> to be getting this footage.</p><p>“Cripes, he’s a quick one!” the axe-beaked one squawked. “Move it, boys!”</p><p>“Can’t <em>you</em> guys get time for assaulting a cop?”</p><p>There was now a <em>new</em> voice now in the alleyway; it got the trio of animals and Morgan to pause as well and the agent to turn around once again. “… …Garcia?” he finally spoke cautiously.</p><p>“<em>White-haired flying teenage kid, two o’clock!”</em></p><p>“Garcia—”</p><p>“<em>It <strong>isn’t</strong> the coffee, <strong>just look!</strong>”</em></p><p>The sharpness in Garcia’s own voice got Morgan to snap his head back and see, to his shock… a white-haired flying teenager.</p><p>Now he <em>knew</em> she had spiked his coffee.</p><p>True to Penelope Garcia’s word, a teenage boy was floating above Derek Morgan with a black jumpsuit and hair as white as clouds. His hands were clad in a pair of gloves with a similar style of plain white boots, eyes glowing the same emerald green that the vultures were colored. The arms were crossed for a moment before the right one was held up and began to <em>glow.</em></p><p>There seemed to be green- flames? Mist? Morgan could <em>not </em>quite tell whatever it was this <em>boy</em> had conjured up in his hands, but it sure made the vultures recoil in fear at the sight. The teenager floated closer, eyes narrowing at the unwelcome visitors in the alleyway before looking down at a slack-jawed Morgan. He turned back to the birds, the energy disappearing before his voice dropped.</p><p>If the chill before was bad enough to make Morgan shudder, this one gave him visible <em>goosebumps</em> on his arms.  </p><p>“Tell your boss to stop sending you around to do <em>his</em> dirty work.”</p><p>One of the vultures opened its beak. His companion nudged him roughly with his wing.</p><p>“If Vlad has a message, tell him to give it to me in <em>person.</em> I’m not one for middle birds.” The teenager’s eyes glowed dangerously at this. “<em>Got it?</em>”</p><p>With a squawk and a grunt, the trio of vultures flew away at a blistering speed. Morgan’s arm shielded his eyes from the sight before turning back to the ghost kid above him… only to see nothing in his wake.</p><p>Garcia’s voice was soft in his ear. “<em>…Morgan?</em>”</p><p>“You, uh.” Morgan’s voice was strangled. “Y-You got all that. Right?”</p><p>“<em>Oh yeah. I got that. I totally saw that,</em>” she breathed in his ear, fingers furiously typing. “<em>The birds, the bees, the kid with the glowing hair and the weird green misty effect and. Oh my god, what if Reid’s right?</em>”</p><p>The agent grimaced, staring at the scene in front of him. “I really hope he’s not.”</p><p><em>“What if Amity Park <strong>is</strong> totally haunted by ghosts?</em>”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Well. Whoops. </p><p>My assistant manager at work got fired (he was a toxic douchebag of a man with many issues) and it's been a very long and intense roller-coaster at my job for various reasons, including that. So my mind hasn't really been on writing recently for a myriad of reasons. I still have this planned out though, so just hang tight please!</p><p>I am all here for Garcia to absolutely be watching Morgan from the Fentons' cameras... and freaking out about ghosts now.</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I have a <a href="https://feralhalfghost.tumblr.com">Tumblr</a>! Please feel free to talk to me about things. :)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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